


day after inglorious day

by bellafarallones



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Time Loop, agent stern is the only one who really suffers tho and barclay a little bit, duck is stuck in a time loop to get him to accept his destiny, indrid is also there because it's his job to supervise time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: “My name is Indrid Cold. I suppose you could say you’ve been... making my life difficult recently.” He said this entirely without venom. If someone in an action movie had said that line, Duck would have thought they were about to murder him, but he didn’t get the impression that Indrid was too bothered.“And you’re here why?”Indrid shrugged. “I’m in the loop because it’s my job. Here at your house?” Duck could see now that there was tension in his shoulders, and his face was thin and at least a day unshaven. “Call it a moment of weakness.”
Relationships: Barclay/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

It was the fifteenth Friday in a row, and Duck was well-acquainted with the loop.

He went to work, came home. Or stayed at home and watched Netflix. And then he went to sleep, or the clock struck midnight, whichever came first. What he did didn’t matter. Either way he woke up in his own bed, sunlight streaming through the curtains and his cat asleep on his feet, to find that it was Friday.

Today Duck planned to drive down to Huntington to go to the art museum, which he’d never before found time to do. Since it was a weekday he had high hopes it wouldn’t even be too crowded. But when he opened his front door, Duck’s jaw dropped.

There was a man standing on his doorstep, a man he’d never seen before with red glasses and pale hair. This would be surprising even outside of a time loop, but today the shock of  _ anything  _ different from the day before overpowered all that.

The stranger seemed to find his surprise unsurprising. “Duck Newton,” he said mildly.

“I - Do you know what’s going on?” Duck had already forgotten all about the art museum.

“Yes, but I can’t tell you. The higher-ups would frown on something like that,” he said.

“Darn.” 

“My name is Indrid Cold. I suppose you could say you’ve been... making my life difficult recently.” He said this entirely without venom. If someone in an action movie had said that line, Duck would have thought they were about to murder him, but he didn’t get the impression that Indrid was too bothered.

“And you’re here why?”

Indrid shrugged. “I’m in the loop because it’s my job. Here at your house?” Duck could see now that there was tension in his shoulders, and his face was thin and at least a day unshaven. “Call it a moment of weakness.”

“So we’re enemies?”

“Oh, nothing so intense as all that,” said Indrid lightly.

Duck saw Indrid’s head tilt as Duck looked him up and down, as he took in Indrid’s shoulders, bare under a thin tank-top, and his narrow hips. “What do you say we…?”

Indrid licked his lips. “Yes.”

Duck reached out and curled his fist in the neck of Indrid’s shirt, slow enough for him to register an objection if he felt like it, but he allowed himself to be pulled inside. Duck pressed him up against the door. Indrid’s eyes were hidden, but his lips were parted, and Duck could hear his breath quicken. 

“Say what you’re thinking,” said Indrid. “It’ll turn me on.”

“Have you been watching me? Watching me get  _ frustrated _ ?”

Indrid grinned, and alarm bells went off in Duck’s head. There was something inhuman about that smile. “No,” Indrid said. “I’ve only watched  _ everything  _ that comes on television today. But would you like it if I had?”

Duck kissed him, hard, and though he wasn’t surprised that Indrid didn’t taste like anyone he’d ever kissed before, the flavor was unexpected. Sweet. 

“Shall I - shall I take that as a yes?” said Indrid breathlessly. He caught Duck’s wrist as he reached for his face, and suddenly his voice was serious. “Glasses stay on.”

Duck nodded.

“Can I say something that might further incline you to, ah, take charge of me?”

“Sure, make me mad.” Duck pinned both of Indrid’s wrists to the door above his head easily with one hand and skated the other up under Indrid’s shirt. “Now that I’ve got you at my mercy.”

Indrid shivered, but he didn’t look afraid, even though he’d admitted that they were on opposite sides of whatever this was. His confidence should have worried Duck, that he knew Duck couldn’t hurt him even as he allowed himself to be manhandled.

“I - used to think about keeping a human as a pet, keeping him in my bed and taking care of him, feeding and pleasuring so that he wanted for nothing, but now that I’m here it seems I may be the pet after all, hm?”

Duck rolled his eyes. “I just thought of a better use for your mouth than talking.”

“Where do you want me?” 

“Bed.” Now Duck pulled Indrid by the hand down the hall towards his bedroom.

“You could rip my clothes off of me, if you wanted. Mark me up, make me yours; it’ll only be for a day.”

The loop. Duck paused, Indrid’s hand limp in his. “I hate you,” he said. “I hate the loop.” Indrid cocked his head, and Duck saw his own face reflected in the red lenses. He looked far less confident than he’d hoped. 

“Well, if you did what you were  _ supposed  _ to, we’d both be out by now,” said Indrid, and there was more venom in his voice now than before, but he had advanced and was crowding Duck into the bedroom.

Fear shot down Duck’s spine, absurd fear of this skinny man who’d all but thrown himself at him, fear that morphed quickly into horniness. “Are you into being degraded a little?”

“Yes.” Indrid was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his boots off. 

“I can’t believe whoever has the power to manipulate spacetime would hire a  _ slut  _ to be in charge of it.”

Indrid laughed, a real laugh, and suddenly he seemed so much more relaxed than he’d been, more at-ease. “I am a uniquely qualified slut.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that.” Duck slipped his belt out of its loops and bent to step out of his pants and boxers. He could see that Indrid was hard already in his jeans. 

“Can I please touch you?” said Indrid.

Duck nodded, standing now between Indrid’s knees, close enough for Indrid to touch his hips and slip two fingers between his legs to rub at his slick folds. Duck almost jolted at the touch,he hadn’t realized how worked-up he was already. “I want to sit on your face.”

Indrid pulled his fingers away and slowly licked them clean. “Please,” he said, and went down easily when Duck pushed on his chest, moved up on the bed so his head was on the pillow. Duck climbed up over him and knelt with his thighs on either side of Indrid’s face, shifted so that the edges of Indrid’s glasses weren’t digging into him.

Indrid wrapped his arms around Duck’s thighs and pulled him down. At the first touch of his tongue Duck gasped and gripped the headboard for dear life.

It had been too long since he’d done this. He didn’t normally fuck strangers, but this was a time loop. Normal rules didn’t apply.

Indrid lifted Duck off his mouth long enough to say “can I touch myself?”

“Hm. Yes, but if you finish before I have a chance to get my hands on you it’s your own fault.”

Indrid hummed a little, and Duck felt one of Indrid’s arms unwind from his thigh and heard the sound of a zipper. Then Indrid’s tongue curled inside him and Duck was no longer aware of his surroundings. “Shit,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re so  _ good _ .”

Indrid whimpered underneath him, and Duck looked down and realized that he was  _ blushing. _

Duck ruffled Indrid’s hair, earning himself another whimper. “You like that? You like being good for me?” 

Indrid nodded, and Duck could hear the slick sound of him jerking himself off, and oh, knowing that Indrid was getting off on pleasing him was enough to push him over the edge. Duck came with Indrid’s tongue on his clit, clenching his thighs around Indrid’s head.

“Shit,” said Duck again. He used the headboard to haul himself off Indrid and collapsed on the bed next to him. His limbs were heavy and he rolled over enough to press his face to Indrid’s warm chest, the thin fabric of his shirt. Then he summoned the energy to wrap his hand around Indrid’s on his leaking cock. “What can I do you for?” 

Indrid bit his lip and thrust his hips up into Duck’s fist. “I - just - hold me?”

“Sure, babe.” Duck kissed him again, sloppily, tasting himself, and Indrid sat up enough for Duck to get both of his arms around him, hold him close to his own chest, feel him gasping against him. Duck watched the motion of Indrid’s hand and pressed mindless kisses to his bare shoulder. 

The noise Indrid made as he finished was broken and beautiful. And he looked wrecked, hair a mess, lips and chin shiny, and skin flushed pink from his face to his shoulders. He looked away from Duck and fidgeted, squishing cum between his fingers and watching it drip slowly down them before he scooped it up again.

“Gross,” said Duck, but he was smiling, and when Indrid looked up suddenly Duck leaned forward and kissed the mild hurt off his face. “Not you,” Duck reassured him. “You’re great. That was great.”

Indrid smiled. “I’ll go wash my hands.” He was careful not to drip onto the carpet as he made his way to the ensuite, which Duck thought was sweet. The loop meant that mess was temporary.

After Duck had taken his turn in the bathroom, they lay side-by-side on the bed, watching the sun claim its midmorning angle outside the window. “You know,” said Duck, “if you want me to do something in particular to end the loop, you could at least give me a hint as to what it is.”

Indrid nodded. “I need paper and a pen.”

Duck leaned off the bed to dig in the bedside table and came up with a hotel freebie Bic and a legal pad, which he handed over.

Indrid sat up and set the legal pad on Duck’s chest. The pressure of the pen through layers of paper tickled a little, and he drew in quick strokes that Duck had to crane his neck to see.

When Indrid finished and tore off the top sheet, Duck realized that he’d drawn a map. There was the highway and the exit that led into the park, the road that led to the visitor’s center and several of the trails. Indrid had drawn a star between two of the paths. 

And above the map, like the sun in the corner of a child’s landscape, he’d drawn something that Duck recognized when he squinted as the view of a clearing from between pines. The style was strange, less concerned with outlines of things than the texture within them. The trees cast long shadows: it was evening.

The middle of the clearing was left conspicuously blank, only the pale blue lines of the paper stretching between the trees on either side. 

“Will this still be here tomorrow?” said Duck. “Or will you come over every day to redraw it?”

“No,” said Indrid. “It’ll still be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy howdy i wonder what's in that clearing...


	2. Chapter 2

Sure enough, when Duck woke up the next morning, there was a map on his bedside table. And that evening, after packing a flashlight, a thermos of coffee, and a couple of sandwiches, he went where he was told. 

It was a pleasant day for a hike, and in the past fifteen iterations of this day he hadn’t had a good chance to enjoy it. Now as the sun sank into late afternoon, Duck looked nervously up and down the trail, and then stepped off it into the trees. 

He knew the view as soon as he saw it. Holding up the drawing, everything was exactly the same: the angles of the trees, the scars on their bark and the way the clusters of needles lay. If he hadn’t watched Indrid draw this he wouldn’t have believed it was done from memory. The trees cast longer shadows in the drawing than they did now, and Duck suspected that this was a meaningful detail. 

The clearing beyond was just about as featureless in real life as the blank spot on the page. Duck skidded a little down the bluff and walked across the clearing. There was nothing there, long grass blowing in the breeze, but -

Duck narrowed his eyes. Two rectangular patches of compacted dirt were conspicuously clear of grass.

Duck tried to kick at the empty dirt, but stubbed his toe on an invisible object. “Ow!” He reached down to rub his toe and bonked his head. “Fuck.  _ Indrid, _ ” he said, and looked up. There was a rectangular stone pillar in front of him, rippling into view as though through water. 

Duck gingerly put out his hands and touched it. The pillar turned out to be one half of a stone arch, and the bare patches of earth had lain underneath the arch’s legs. 

Duck stuck his hand through the arch. Nothing happened. He didn’t see how knowing about this would change the time loop, but the shadows cast by the trees into the meadow were still short. There was still time before the moment Indrid had captured. 

Duck climbed back up and plonked himself down leaning up against one of the pine trees that had appeared in the picture. Its trunk was sticky against his back. He rubbed his forehead, and his toe as best he could through the toe of his hiking boot. Then he pulled out the thermos of coffee and propped a book against his knees. 

Eventually Duck heard voices across the meadow. Someone was approaching from the other side. 

Duck had never been nervous in these woods before, but some instinct told him to snatch up his pack and duck behind the tree. From his hiding place he saw a tall, bearded man and a gray-haired woman, both with long rifles slung over their shoulders, enter the clearing.

They were talking and laughing with each other, and as they got closer Duck could hear the man complaining loudly about some recipe blog, and as they got closer still Duck realized he knew them. This was Barclay, the cook-slash-housekeeper at the Amnesty Lodge, and his boss, whom everyone called Mama. 

Still Duck remained hidden. He’d never seen either of them with a gun before. They seemed to be able to see the arch without running into it, and took up positions on either side of it as they continued their conversation through the gap.

After a few minutes Mama checked her watch. “It’s about time,” she said. They both took their guns off their shoulders and stood in silence.

The center of the arch became suddenly opaque, milky-white and swirling with faint color like the surface of a soap bubble. Duck’s watch read 7:28. Then the soap bubble popped as something huge and bear-like appeared, heading for Barclay.

Duck heard him get a shot off, but the thing hit him still running, knocked him down and sent the gun spinning out of his hand. Mama shot once, twice, but even the noise of the gun was drowned out by Barclay’s terrible scream. 

Mama paused for only a second before she charged through the gate and leaped up onto the thing’s back. Her fingers sunk into black ooze. There was a flash of silver as she buried a short knife into its back, aiming for the spine. 

The beast stood up suddenly enough to dislodge her, and the handle of the knife disappeared inside it.

Duck dug his nails into the bark of the tree and kept himself from charging down into the clearing. He was unarmed; there was nothing he could do. If two people with guns, two people who were  _ expecting  _ whatever this thing was, if not its ferocity, could be mown down so easily - for now Mama was down too, her last scream deadened by the trees - Duck had no hope. 

The beast paused, raised its nose to the air. Then it dropped back onto four legs and loped across the meadow away from Duck and into the trees, where it was soon swallowed by shadows.

Duck let out the breath he’d been holding. There was always tomorrow.

\--

The next day Duck went to work. He found the old files someone had requested in record time and expertly interpreted the vague directions to where a tree had fallen across the path. Juno was very impressed with him.

“Anything else that needs doing?” said Duck. “I’d like to get out of the ranger station, if possible.” 

“You could check in on Eastwood? Nobody reported any problems, but it’s getting about time to inspect the electrical hookup again and make sure nobody damaged the bear-box.”

“Sure.” Duck dug in a filing cabinet for the manila folder labeled Eastwood Campground & RV Park. There was the instruction manual for the bear box and electrical hookup, the business card of the company they hired to do the landscaping, and only one contract with a resident. 

Someone who’d rented a spot for the entire year. Indrid Cold. So much for doing work. 

On the way to the campground, Duck stopped at a gas station and bought a six-pack of local craft beer and a box of condoms. The cashier raised her eyebrows at him in his park ranger uniform and the Monongahela National Forest truck out front, but he just smiled back like there was no tomorrow. It was two in the afternoon.

Duck had just raised his hand to knock on the door of the only RV in the campground when Indrid opened the door. “Hello, Duck,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well, if you’re allowed to show up at my house, it’s only fair that I can do the same to you.”

“It is only fair,” Indrid agreed, and stood aside to allow Duck past. Inside the RV there was a sofa and a television and a tiny kitchenette with a stack of notebooks and loose paper on the kitchen table. 

“Can I put these in your fridge to cool down?” said Duck, holding up the case of beer.

“Of course,” said Indrid, and took the case from him. When he opened the fridge Duck saw that it was empty except for several cartons of eggnog, which it was not at all the season for, and a half-empty plastic jug of radioactive red Hawaiian punch. “Make yourself comfortable, please.”

“I saw what happens in the clearing,” said Duck, settling himself on the couch. “Pretty fucked up. I assume I’m supposed to stop it?”

“The people involved would certainly appreciate it if you did,” said Indrid without turning around. He’d had to take the bottles out of the box to get them to fit and was arranging them in a pyramid on the bottom shelf, a prime position for Duck to look at his ass.

“Why me?”

Indrid didn’t reply until after the bottles had stopped clinking and he closed the fridge and turned around. “You don’t need me to tell you that, Duck.”

Right. The destiny stuff. The sword in the back of the Cryptonomica. “You don’t work for Minerva, do you?”

“No.” Indrid sat next to Duck on the couch and they stayed there in silence for a moment. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

Duck waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for doing something at least adjacent to what I’m supposed to?”

Indrid laughed. “No,” he said, but kissed him anyway.

Duck swung his leg over so he was straddling Indrid’s lap, facing him. “I’ll go back tonight and see what I can do.” He caressed Indrid’s cheek, fingertips skipping over the hard metal of the side of his glasses. They kissed for a moment more. Indrid was warm, his tongue languid in Duck’s mouth.

Eventually Indrid started tugging on Duck’s shirt, with its gold name tag and badge, until it came untucked, and fingered the lowest button. “May I?”

“Go right ahead.”

“In your work clothes as well,” Indrid murmured as he undid one button after another.

“What, you got a thing for a man in uniform?”

“I promise I’m not breaking any campground rules that you could punish me for.”

Duck pulled him by the hair into another kiss until Indrid was making needy noises into his mouth. “But I bet you’d let me punish you anyway, huh?”

Indrid only whined at that, running his hands over Duck’s bare chest, pinching gently at his nipples. 

Duck realized suddenly that he felt less self-conscious allowing Indrid to see him like this than he’d felt with anyone in a long time. Maybe  _ ever. _ Indrid did not look away from the softness of his belly and thighs, did not comment on his anatomy or the scars running across his chest. This close Duck could see that the eyes beneath his glasses were round with admiration.

Indrid went to push the shirt off Duck’s shoulders, but Duck stopped him, pulled a condom in its wrapper out of one of his chest pockets and pressed it against Indrid’s chest until he took it. “Don't want to have to dig around for this later.” Then Duck shrugged his shirt all the way off and dropped it on the floor at his feet. 

Indrid turned the condom over in his fingers. “You want...?”

“Once I’m good and warmed up, yeah. If you’re interested.”

“I - yeah.”

The room was warm enough that Duck’s bare skin didn’t prickle. “I wanna cum with you inside me.”

Indrid gripped Duck’s hips as he rocked against him. “I do also own a bed, if you’d like to do this there.”

Duck knew he should be fine with it, that it was a logical thing to say. But his heart sped up, not in the good way, and he rested his chin on Indrid’s shoulder to process why.

“Here is fine too, though.” Indrid moved his hands higher on Duck’s back. “What’s up?”

“It’s weird.”

Indrid rubbed slow circles into his shoulders, gentle, not insistent, and Duck didn’t pull away.

“It’s not that I’m  _ scared  _ of you, or anything, but there’s a lot about you I don’t know, and you have time powers, I guess, and I’m alone with you in your house. Being upright and… in charge… makes me feel a little less vulnerable.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I want to. The other day was… really good.” Duck’s arousal surged at the memory of Indrid’s mouth, Indrid’s fingers curled up inside him. 

“Yes, there are things about me that you don’t know,” Indrid said, and caught Duck’s hand, kissed the knuckles one by one. “But I haven’t lied to you. I was annoyed with you yesterday, seeing as your inaction has trapped me in a time loop and I didn’t have the foresight to arrange ways to entertain myself reliving the same day for three weeks.” 

The blankness of his glasses was unsettling, so Duck focused on Indrid’s soft lips and his sweet nose, the parts of his face that were smiling.

“I’m also a single man who lives in an RV park - very charitable of you to call this a house, by the way - and works a lonely job, and you are very attractive and smart and interesting and I want to put my mouth all over your naked body. ”

“Ugh,” said Duck, pressing his face into Indrid’s cheek so he didn’t have to see him looking so earnest. “You’re sweet.” He got ahold of the hem of Indrid’s shirt and rucked it up to touch the skin underneath. “Also, take this off?”

Indrid obediently removed his shirt. “If you want more you’re going to have to get off me for a moment.”

“Hm, no.” They spent the next few moments kissing and grinding on each other until being empty became unbearable, and Duck undid the button and zipper on his pants and dragged Indrid’s hand inside by the wrist. The angle was a little strange, but Duck lifted his hips and pushed his pants down around his thighs until Indrid had room to press one finger, then two inside him. 

“Good?” said Indrid.

“Yes.” Indrid curled his fingers thoughtfully, making Duck gasp. Duck reached down and laid his palm across Indrid’s cock, hard through his jeans. “Alright,  _ now  _ I’m willing to get off of you for long enough to get your pants off.

Indrid pulled his fingers out of Duck, dithered for a moment before wiping them on his own shirt, and then undressed the rest of the way. When he sat down again he found Duck kneeling between his legs, stroking him quickly before stretching the condom on. Then Duck straddled him again, reaching down to guide his cock inside him as Indrid held his hips. 

With Indrid fully inside him now, Duck rolled his hips experimentally. Oh. That was good. He supposed, vaguely, that this was how humanity had propropagated itself for millenia. Having a cock inside you felt really, really good. 

“Oh,” said Indrid. “This is - very nice.”

“Hell yeah,” gasped Duck. Indrid had thrust his hips up, and he felt so full, like every tiny motion hit all the spots inside him that made him whine. Duck grinned, gathered Indrid’s hands in his own, and pinned them to the wall above his head. 

Indrid finished first, a flatteringly short amount of time later, and dissolved into overstimulated whimpers.

“Too much?” said Duck, releasing Indrid’s hands but still moving, chasing his own pleasure. “You need me off?”

“No,” gasped Indrid. “Keep using me.” He hugged Duck to his fever-flushed chest, and his hips kept twitching upwards, painfully overstimulated but still seeking more pleasure. Duck reached down between them to rub his clit and felt Indrid’s wet mouth on his neck.

After Duck finished they pulled apart slowly, like stretching taffy, and lay fucked-out together on the couch for a while.

“We never drank that beer,” said Duck finally.

Indrid, looking rather like he was about to fall asleep, managed a smile. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”

“You have that much faith in me?” Duck had gotten to his feet and was starting to put his pants back on.

“No, everything in here persists across the loops. Like the note I wrote for you.”

Duck rubbed his forehead. “Indrid, I watched them die. What if I die too?”

“I won’t sugarcoat it: dying is never pleasant. But even if you do, you’ll get another chance.” Indrid reached out and squeezed Duck’s hand for a moment, and then let it drop. “I hope you won’t need one.”

Duck pulled his shirt on again and started buttoning it. “I’m going to collect my sword. Wanna come with?”

“I can’t. I’m not allowed to help you. You’re not even supposed to know I’m here.”

“I haven’t gotten you in trouble, have I?”

“It would take more than this to get me in trouble. Uniquely qualified slut, remember? Besides, I know you can handle this.”

“Thanks.” Duck patted his pockets, reassuring himself that he had his keys and wallet and phone. 

“It was good to see you again,” said Indrid, a little stiffly.

“Likewise.” Duck bent down and stole a kiss goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

Duck drove to the ranger station, said goodbye to Juno, and swapped the National Forest car for his own. Then he drove to the Cryptonomica, endured fifteen minutes of unsuccessful sales pitches from Mr. Chicane, and retrieved Beacon. 

He passed by the campground again on his way back, thinking to ask Indrid if he wanted to have dinner before the gate opened, but the windows of the Winnebago were dark. Indrid must be out. “What?” said Beacon, propped on the front passenger seat. “Why are we stopping?”

Duck gritted his teeth. “Nothing, Beacon. Hey, you’re good at fighting, right?”

“With the right wielder, I am unstoppable. Even with you I am more than capable of handling whatever we might encounter.”

“Right. Good.”

He made it to the archway by seven. When Barclay and Mama arrived, they found Duck leaning up against the archway, spinning Beacon between his hands. 

“Um,” said Barclay. “Ranger Newton, right? What brings you out here?”

“Probably the same thing as you folks. At seven twenty-eight, something very mean is going to come through this archway.”

Mama narrowed her eyes. “Who told you about the gate?”

“Nobody,” said Duck, which was technically true. “I’m trapped in a time loop, so I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Ah,” said Barclay.

“What number loop is this?” said Mama.

“Sixteen.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds; it took me fifteen loops to figure out that this was where I was supposed to go. Yesterday - last loop, I guess - the thing came out of the gate going this way,” Duck said, pointing, “and so we should all be on this side. And I think you should back up if you’re going to shoot at it. Yesterday you didn’t have enough time to get many shots off.”

“We are in no danger,” drawled Beacon. “I am more than capable of handling this  _ beast. _ ”

“Shut the hell up,” said Duck. Then he looked up at Barclay and Mama apologetically. “Talking sword. You know.”

“We call them abominations,” said Barclay. “Have you - have we told you anything else in prior loops?”

“Nope! So whatever you could say in the next five minutes would be really helpful.”

Mama spoke quickly. “This archway is a gate from Earth to a place called Silvain. Most sylphs - inhabitants of Silvain - are much like humans, but every month for the past thirty years or so, monsters that we call abominations have been coming through the gate to attack Earth.”

“Makes sense to me.” Duck checked his watch again. “One minute. You back up and get ready to fire, and I’ll stay close and aim for the head when it comes through?”

“Yes. Aim for the head,” said Mama, as she and Barclay took a few steps back.

“Further,” said Duck. “Rifles aren’t even meant to be used at close range.” When the gate opened, his head was still turned. This close the portal made a noise like thick soup boiling, and he could hear the abomination’s labored breaths. He turned to meet it and raised Beacon above his head. 

A bullet buried itself in the thing’s head, but it produced no blood, and Beacon struck too low, slicing its shoulder rather than its neck. 

Duck tugged Beacon free. “What was that about!?” said Beacon as the abomination shoved Duck aside to pursue Mama and Barclay, who had each paused to reload. 

“Next loop we need some non-gun weaponry!” Mama called. “Come to the lodge in the morning and tell Barclay to bring some carving knives! Get Jake and Dani and Moira, too!”

For there to be a next loop Duck would have to watch them die again. Watch Mama die, who aimed and fired again and again with steady hands, and Barclay, who was now white-faced and trembling. 

Duck chased the abomination across the meadow and ran it through. He yanked Beacon out, and black ooze gushed from the wound. The abomination turned to face him and raised one huge paw, and Duck was too close to get out of the way, took the swipe to the side of the face, and was knocked to the ground. 

He kept his grip on Beacon but now he was on his back and the abomination was looming over him. Black ooze flowed down as a mouth yawned open, a mouth with black fangs, the mouth that he had watched just the previous day carve out Barclay’s torso like a Thanksgiving turkey.

In that instant, while Duck awaited death, he thought he could hear between the creature’s breaths and his own the creak of a tree branch as a weight was lifted off of it. And then there was the beat of heavy wings and an inhuman shriek, just on the edge of his hearing, but enough to make the abomination raise its head. 

There, hovering in the air above the gate, was a giant moth. It was mostly white, and for a moment Duck thought it had been colored by the sunset, but no, there were real splotches of pink and yellow across its wings and chest. 

Duck took the opportunity to get to his feet. One second stretched into two, and the moth’s wings beat. The abomination seemed to be as entranced by it as Duck was. “Do something!” Duck yelled.

“You do realize I have zero offensive capabilities, right?” the moth shouted back. “Like, I fly around and look pretty and you have a sword?”

Right. A sword. “Alright, Beacon,” Duck muttered. “You’ve done a lot of boasting, now’s the time to show me what you’re made of.” Suddenly he felt electricity in his fingers. 

“Magic,” said Beacon. Duck’s arms lifted, his knees bent, outside his conscious control. “That’s what I’m made of.”

Beacon’s grin disappeared beneath black ooze and reappeared on the other side of the abomination’s neck. A head with a yawning mouth hit the grass.

“Told you so,” Beacon said. “Imagine what we could do if you actually took the time to train.”

The abomination was melting. Black ooze waterfalled down its hulking frame and spread across the ground. Duck staggered a few steps back and sat down. 

The moth landed tentatively in front of him. He could see now that it had human arms and legs besides the wings and antennae and fuzzy chest. The leather strap of a satchel was slung over one broad shoulder. 

Duck looked up into those empty red eyes and saw his own face reflected, looking more confident than he felt. “It’s you,” he said. 

The mothman chirred. “Is my disguise really that feeble?”

“You said you couldn’t help me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. But I realized I  _ really  _ didn’t want to watch you die. The air tastes like fear.” His antennae flicked. “Call it a moment of weakness.”

“What you said before about keeping a human as a pet makes a lot more sense now.”

Indrid made a noise that might have been a laugh. “Ah, yes. I suppose in retrospect that was a rather strange thing to say, given the way I looked at the time.” Then he took the satchel off his back and fumbled with the buckle.

“When the loop ends, will I see you again?”

Indrid looked up. He’d gotten the satchel open and was holding his glasses in his hand. “Not unless you’d like to.”

“Of course I’d like to.”

“In that case, Duck Newton.” Indrid buffed his sunglasses on the fuzz of his chest and slipped them onto his face, shrinking into a smiling human as soon as they were in place. “You do know where I live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone wanna hazard a guess about who indrid's working for, who's setting up all these time loops?


	4. Chapter 4

_ 2006 _

Indrid sat hunched-over on the couch and looked down at the notebook in his lap. He hadn’t been bothered to earn any money in months now, and so the paper he drew on was so thin it was almost translucent, and the ink in his pen clotted and stuck, but even with broken lines and ink-spots he knew what he saw. The head of a goat. 

The door of the Winnebago was so flimsy that it rattled in its frame when someone knocked, and it rattled now. Indrid closed the notebook, laid it aside, and went to open the door. There was the goat-face he’d just been looking at, attached to a bipedal body clothed in a black hooded robe. 

“Hello,” said Indrid.

The goat bleated softly.

“Can you… understand me?”

A nod.

“Well, come in, then.” Indrid stood aside, let his visitor pass, and shut the door again. The goat had to bend down to enter. 

Indrid looked them up and down. They were not a sylph, that much was clear, but nor were they a human or other close relation of the goats that lived on Earth. Indrid could guess no more than that, but it didn’t worry him. He’d lived too long to be concerned by something so trivial as an alien goat in his living room. 

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?” Indrid said finally.

The goat nodded. Then they pulled a sheet of paper out of their robe and handed it over.

Indrid scanned it. “Well,” he said. “And you’d be paying me?”

A nod. 

“Well, who am I to refuse gainful employment?”

The goat tilted their head, confused, though their eyes remained flat and glassy. 

“I’m saying yes,” Indrid clarified. He carefully folded the piece of paper and put it into his pocket. “If you’re going to be spending a lot of time on Earth, you’re gonna need a better disguise. I can make one for you, if you’d like?”

Another nod, and a motion of the hand as if to suggest  _ if it’s not too much trouble.  _

Indrid pulled open one of the kitchen drawers and waved the goat over. “Pick something that speaks to you.”

The goat raked their yellow-nailed fingers through a mess of rings and bangles and tangled necklaces and pulled out a silver metal watch. The glass was cracked, and the hands were stuck forever at 11:23. The goat handed it to Indrid.

“Well, it’ll be right twice a day,” said Indrid, turning it over in his hands. “What would you like to look like?”

The goat shrugged.

Indrid pulled an eight-month-old issue of  _ Us Weekly  _ out of the rack on the floor by the couch. Its pages were dull and curled in on the edges from wear. “Pick a face, any face.”

The goat flipped through the whole thing, carefully considering each image, and then returned to a page near the beginning, where a man in green swim trunks emerged from blue surf. 

“Good choice,” said Indrid, and popped open the face of the watch with his thumbnail. When he’d finished and handed it back, the goat just looked confused. “Put it on.” More confusion. “Here, I’ll do it.” Indrid reached out and fastened the watch around one white-furred wrist. 

Ryan Gosling bleated.

“Still no English, huh?” Indrid took out the paper he’d been given again and scrutinized it for another moment. “Your name’s Billy?”

Billy nodded.

Indrid smiled his strange smile and stuck his hand out for a handshake. “Well, Billy, I look forward to our partnership.”

\--

_ now _

First Billy counted out twenty-dollar bills onto the Winnebago’s kitchen table. Indrid had his feet up and was sipping a cup of eggnog. To him, money meant campground rent, sugary beverages, and now, maybe taking Duck out to dinner and fucking him afterwards. He was determined to be a classy date.

Then Billy’s attractive Ryan Gosling hands brought Indrid’s attention back to the present. “You interfered,” he signed. 

Indrid took a moment to reply. He wasn’t as used to interpreting ASL in his future-visions as he was listening to speech, and so it was more difficult to sort through how Billy might react. “I did,” he said finally.

“I am, in a way, interfering myself.”

“It’s so hard not to.” Indrid was getting ahead of himself, already distracted by what Billy hadn’t yet said.

“My superiors, unlike myself, would like both Earth and Silvain to be destroyed. Luckily they are too preoccupied with other things to track carefully how time flows in these crevices of the universe.” 

“I gotta say, I’m happy to promote the continued existence of the only planets I’ve ever lived on. If you’d told me that at the start I wouldn’t have negotiated so hard when it came to my salary.”

Billy made as if to take back one of the stacks of twenties on the table, mouth split in a silent laugh, then continued. “We had identified the sylph Barclay and the human Mama as two of the most important people preventing open conflict between Earth and Silvain. Enlisting Duck to prevent their deaths, and getting him to accept his destiny in the process, was my own good idea, if I may say so myself.”

Something about Billy talking about Duck that way, like he was a tool to be used as cleverly or as foolishly as one could, rubbed Indrid the wrong way. “Fishing for compliments much?”

“Save your good feeling. Tomorrow the one who works for the government, Agent Joseph Stern, will cause his superiors to come to Kepler.”

There would be another loop. Indrid could see that. But something else surprised him, the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. “Can’t you get someone else to do it?”

Ryan Gosling’s eyes were bestial-cold. “You think there are others?”

It was like skidding too fast down a hill, seeing the answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked, struggling to get them out of his mouth before his mind moved on. “Aren’t you like me? How else could you know what day to loop?”

“No. We make our predictions with computers.” As Billy signed ‘computer,’ he grimaced, as if no clumsy English word or motion of human hands could convey the intricacy of the technology to which he referred. 

Indrid had always assumed that he wasn’t the only one. That all omniscience must be like his own. That Billy employed other seers to manage other loops, other seers to predict what would happen and when. “Alright,” Indrid said. “New loop tomorrow. Will Stern be the one looping with me?”

“No. Barclay.”

“Well, this’ll be fun.” Indrid drained the last of his eggnog and stood up. “Can I go? I want to get to the library before it closes.”

The library was something new. Indrid had learned from the previous loop that he couldn’t count on the television to entertain him over long periods of time, and Duck had been the one to show him the many joys of the Kepler Public Library.

Duck. Indrid was a little bit surprised to find that he didn’t want to go into the future without him.

\--

Kepler’s one all-night diner had always been irresistible. Its windows were a lighthouse in the dark forest, and it served milkshakes and sweet tea and all the other marvelous delivery methods for liquid sugar that humans had come up with.

Now Indrid sat with Duck in a corner booth, allowing his salted-caramel milkshake to melt into soup while Duck dug into a meatloaf dinner. 

Indrid looked up at the clock above the bar. It was just past seven, and there was a lot he wanted to accomplish between now and midnight. “How was your day?” he ventured.

“Good. I found some purple mushrooms during a nature walk today, so the group was really happy.”

“The edible kind?”

“See, I couldn’t tell for sure - not a mycologist - but I said they were super poisonous because, y’know, better safe than sorry.”

“Of course.” Indrid took a sip of his milkshake.

“You’re being a real gentleman tonight, Indrid,” said Duck. “Something you’re angling for?”

“Am I doing something wrong?” Indrid said. This wasn’t the part of the evening he was worried about, but he was too deep in the possibilities of what he might say in an hour to see what was three seconds in front of him. “Sorry, I don’t go on many dates.”

Duck choked on his water. “This is a date?”

“I called you and asked if I could buy you dinner? Is that not how you’re supposed to ask someone on a date?”

“I guess? I don’t know what I thought it was. Christ, Indrid, I would have dressed up.” Duck was still wearing his work uniform, and there was dirt on his knees.

“I did give you rather late notice.” The waitress passed by and Indrid lowered his voice. “Look, there’s another loop starting tomorrow. I don’t know how long it’s going to last. So, from my perspective, it might be weeks before we have a conversation that you’ll be able to remember.”

“But for me it’ll just be another day.”

Indrid made circles with his hand. “Another day, and another, and so on, each existing separately. But now you’ll know it’s a loop.”

“Who’s in with you?”

“Barclay will be.”

Duck smiled, which was an immense relief. “Should I be jealous?” he said teasingly.

“I went through at least fifteen separate loops without even  _ talking  _ to whoever was in it with me.” Indrid took a deep breath. “I know this is fast, Duck, but I want you to know it for tomorrow, however many tomorrows there might be. I didn’t tell you much about myself in the loop because I didn’t know what would happen afterwards, but here we are, and I want to be close to you, so you deserve to know whatever you want. About me.”

Duck’s mouth opened, and then closed. Indrid looked away, looked into his milkshake, buried himself in the future so he wouldn’t have to live the long seconds of the present.

“You’re the mothman,” said Duck finally.

“Yes. That is the body I was born with.”

“Is that what you meant by ‘uniquely qualified?’”

“No. My unique qualification is that I can see the future.”

“Like,  _ well?  _ My visions always suck.”

Against his better judgement, Indrid bristled at that. Seeing the future was, perhaps, the  _ only  _ thing he did well enough to be worth mentioning. “Well enough that I was recruited to oversee time loops.”

“So when we met, you knew what was going to happen? You knew about everything in advance?”

“Not everything, never everything. There were too many choices that you made, and that I made, and it would have been impossible for me to parse all the possibilities. I had an idea. Not a certainty, and I didn’t know how much of it was wishful thinking, but I did spend that morning soaking off my acrylic nails.”

Duck started laughing. “You were wearing  _ acrylic nails _ !?”

“I like the noises they make when I touch stuff!”

“Do you go to a salon to get them done? What color?”

“I do them myself, I got the tips out of a kit. I had tried to paint them ombre gray to black but it didn’t come out great.”

“I’m sorry but this is so much more exciting than the future thing. Am I gonna get to see you with acrylic nails sometime?”

“If you want.”

“Hell yeah I do! Just, y’know, keep ‘em short.” Duck raised his eyebrows suggestively. “At least on your right hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.tiktok.com/@pearlscales/video/6707684707485617413 yeah ok so im obsessed with the indrid cosplay by @pearlscales on tiktok and theres a couple where they have long nails. what're you gonna do, sue me? 
> 
> i have also written all the rest of this fic (about 11k in total) except for the epilogue EXCEPT for the mothman fucking i really want in the next chapter after this one. but it's giving me so much trouble. so. send thoughts and prayers for that to happen lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically porn. but like, weird porn. you're welcome

Duck picked up the phone on his lunch break and called the campsite. “What loop is this?”

_ “The first one. _ ”

“Okay. Well. Wow. Tomorrow morning can you call and warn me that the printer’s gonna jam at, like, eleven? It’ll save me a lot of trouble.”

_ “Of course. Printer jam at eleven.” _

Duck curled the phone cord around his finger. “Do you want to come over after I get off work?” 

_ “Is it a date?”  _ teased Indrid.

Duck spun around in his chair to check that Juno was still immersed in her own work. “Yes. And this is a weird question, but what snacks do you like? I’ve never actually seen you eat anything.”

_ “Ah, yes. I don’t really… eat. My mouth remembers what it’s like to be a moth, I suppose.” _

Duck remembered the fridge full of fruit punch and eggnog.

_ “You don’t have to worry about feeding me. What time?” _

“Seven?” And then, more quietly, because Juno was making her way over - “sorry gotta go, can’t wait to see you bye!” and slammed the phone down.

Juno raised her eyebrows at the phone and leaned on Duck’s desk. “So you’re never gonna believe what I found in the cab of the truck,” she said conversationally.

Duck went red. The last time he’d driven their ranger truck he’d been going to Indrid’s, and he’d assumed he’d have at least one loop left in which to make better decisions.

Juno slid an open box of condoms across his desk. And a receipt, showing that he’d purchased them, along with a case of beer, at about 2pm the previous Friday. He still hadn’t gotten a chance to drink that beer.

“I’m not even mad,” said Juno, “because you did do all your work. But I would like to be enlightened as to what force on earth convinced Ranger Duck Newton to do something as buckwild as all that.”

“I, um. I got a new boyfriend?” He didn’t actually know whether they were using the word  _ boyfriend  _ or not, but it didn’t taste like a lie.

Juno laughed. “Damn. He must really be something.”

“Yeah, he is.” 

“Well, Duck, I’m happy for you.” Juno clapped him on the shoulder. “Just remember you’re not the only one who uses that truck, huh?”

\--

Indrid arrived at seven on the dot with a bottle of wine. Duck hugged him and put the bottle on the table. “You want me to crack this open for us?”

“Um. You can if you want? I don’t actually drink alcohol, you just brought beer over to my place that one time and I figured it was the right thing to do?”

Duck laughed. “If I’d known you don’t drink I wouldn’t have gotten the beer. All you gotta bring is yourself.”

“But now you have no choice but to come over sometime and drink that beer.”

“Darn. I guess I’ll just have to visit you again.” Duck put a carton of eggnog on the counter next to the wine. “I know you said I didn’t have to feed you, but I hope this is okay.”

“Sugar-water will always delight me, no matter the form.”

They ate sitting across from each other at Duck’s narrow kitchen table. Duck had leftover meatballs, at which Indrid showed no sign of judgement, and Indrid drained most of the carton of eggnog. 

“I’m curious about your… other body,” said Duck finally, when the dishes were cleared away.

Indrid’s expression was unchanged, his voice neutral. “Would you like to see it?”

“Please.”

Indrid got up and closed the blinds in the kitchen, so that he stood in half-darkness. Then he took off his glasses. 

Duck breathed out. In the sky and in the clearing he’d had no sense of scale, but here, Indrid’s head almost brushed the ceiling and his wings were the size of twin bedspreads. 

“Can I touch you?” Duck said, and when Indrid nodded, he stood, rested one hand gingerly on Indrid’s chest, the texture of which was both like and unlike mammalian fur in ways Duck could not articulate.

From far away Indrid’s eyes had seemed featureless, but this close Duck could see that they were faceted like finely-cut gemstones. Compound, like all insect eyes, and without pupils. 

Duck realized all at once that he’d been staring. “Sorry,” he said. “I bet this is really weird for you.”

Indrid shook his head. “Your curiosity will not offend me. I had been afraid you would recoil from me.”

“Not even close.” Duck threw his arms around Indrid’s chest. “You’re soft.”

Indrid wrapped his arms around him, too, and Duck felt his feet leave the ground, and buried his face in Indrid’s shoulder.

It had been so long since someone had been able to lift him up, especially this effortlessly. “Is it weird that you’re still hot like this?”

“Am I?”

Duck groaned, embarrassed, and Indrid set him back down on the ground and patted his head, which just made him blush more.

“Do you find this form appealing, Duck?” said Indrid teasingly.

“...yes. You’re big and strong and, God, you could hold me down like I was nothing or keep me as a pet like you said that one time or - yeah. Can you fuck me like this?”

“I would very much like to, but this body lacks the necessary equipment.” One of Indrid’s feathery antennae flicked, and Duck wanted so badly to know what that meant, to be with him for as many hours as it took for his alien body language to make sense.

Then Indrid’s hands were cupping his cheeks, tilting his face up. “I can’t kiss you,” said Indrid sadly. “But I will indulge you however I can.” Indrid lifted him up again and pinned him to the wall easily, so his eyes were very close to Duck’s and he could wrap his legs around Indrid’s waist. “What would you ask of me, my dear?”

“Don’t you know what I’m going to say?”

“I need to hear you say it.”

There was a desperate tightness in Duck’s chest, a lump in his throat. The words tumbled over each other as he struggled to spin what he was feeling into sound. “I - I want you to overpower me. Let me fight you. I want to feel how strong you are.” 

“And then…?” Indrid prompted. Duck didn’t say anything, but his heart beat rabbit-quick when Indrid took hold of his chin and forced him to look into his glowing red eyes. “I shall have my monstrous way with you?”

“I won’t fight you for that part.” Duck squirmed meaningfully, pressed between the wall and Indrid’s chest. “And I’ll. Uh. I’ll tell you to ease off if I need you to.”

“I trust you to do so,” said Indrid, and pressed his face for a moment against Duck’s cheek. His antennae tickled Duck’s hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Then his voice changed, roughened like the skeleton of a bridge rusted by icy water. “Show me how a human fights.”

Indrid took a step back from the wall and Duck stumbled a little as he hit the ground. He balled his hands and swung at Indrid, who caught his fist easily and whose grip was steel when Duck tried to wrench away. 

Indrid spun Duck and held him to his own chest, put a possessive hand on his thigh. “Is this what you think of when you’re alone in the woods?”

“Maybe,” Duck managed, still struggling to pull his hands free of Indrid’s grip.

“You are very strong.” Indrid picked him up easily under one arm, held Duck’s kicking legs down with the other. “But there are beasts out there who are stronger.”

Indrid carried him into his own bedroom and deposited him on the bed. Duck sat up and tried to scramble away but Indrid pushed him down easily, pinned his hands above his head. 

Indrid toyed with him a little, loosened his grip on Duck’s hands for a moment before pushing them back into place, their fingers entwined. “You think you’re going anywhere?” he cooed, and then lay down, resting his full weight on Duck’s chest.

Duck had nightmares, sometimes, of being trapped by an earthquake-collapsed building or a fallen tree. Being trapped now sent a flash of panic down his spine. But he knew that he could be free in an instant if he needed to, and Indrid felt less like an obstacle than a warm weighted blanket. 

Duck’s noises of exertion were getting breathier. He thrust his hips upwards in a gesture that could only generously be construed as an attempt at bucking Indrid off of him, and then went still. 

Indrid must have felt Duck stop moving, because he lifted himself up enough to look into Duck’s face. “Are you ready to behave for me?”

Duck nodded desperately, and did not make a break for it when Indrid sat back, kept his hands above his head when Indrid unbuttoned his shirt - he had more dexterity with his fingers than Duck would have expected from someone so large - and dragged his nails down Duck’s chest hard enough to leave red lines. “Please,” said Duck.

“Hm?”

“Please fuck me.”

Indrid undid the buckle on Duck’s belt and the button and zipper of his pants and dragged them down, pressed his knuckles against the wet patch on Duck’s underwear, hard enough to make him keen. “You’re soaked,” he said with something like genuine wonder in his voice.

“Your own fault for bein’ so damn hot.” Duck pressed up into Indrid’s fingers. “I have toys in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Get the pink one? Fuck me? Please?”

As soon as Indrid turned his back Duck pulled his underwear off and plunged one finger then two into himself, rocking his clit against his palm. Indrid returned with the requested dildo and settled between Duck’s legs. 

“Eager,” he said. “Would you like me to put my glasses on?”

“No,” said Duck. “I want you to fuck me like this.”

Indrid nodded, pulled Duck’s hand away and replaced it tentatively with his own. “I’ve never done this with a human when I’m in this body,” he said.

“How is it?” Duck rocked his hips against Indrid’s long fingers crooked inside him. 

“I’ve been missing out.” Indrid’s antennae were trembling now. He held up the dildo. “You ready for this?”

“Yeah,” said Duck, reaching down to rub his own clit as Indrid pressed into him. His limbs tingled from the absence of Indrid’s comforting weight, but now his desire to cum was a more urgent problem. Indrid held his hips down with one hand and fucked him hard with the other. Duck finished with his eyes squeezed shut, but when he opened them he was looking into glowing red eyes, and he loved it. 

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck that was good.”

Indrid pulled the dildo slowly out of Duck’s still-spasming entrance. “I concur entirely.”

Duck reached out and pulled Indrid down on top of him. Indrid kept most of his weight off of Duck, now, but he was still fluffy and his hands stroked gently up Duck’s sides. Duck touched him too, gentle, affectionate and fought the urge to fall asleep. 

Eventually he gave Indrid a little push, and Indrid rolled off him. “I should -,” said Duck, picking up the dildo. Patches of Indrid’s fuzz were also shiny with Duck’s slick. “Oh, god, I got you all gross, I’m sorry.”

Indrid shrugged. “My bodies accumulate these things separately, so I can change back and shower when I get home.”

“Good.” Duck stumbled into the bathroom, legs still a little shaky. When he returned he found Indrid sitting on the edge of the bed, turning his glasses over in his hands. “Can you… stay like this? For a few more minutes?”

Indrid set his glasses on the bedside table. “If you’d like.”

“Please.” Duck climbed onto the bed and lay down, pulling Indrid gently down next to him until he could bury his face in the soft fluff of Indrid’s neck. Indrid paused for a moment and then draped one arm loosely over Duck’s back. 

“Was that… okay for you?”

Duck nodded, hoping that Indrid could feel it against him. “Yeah. Was it okay for you?”

“Yeah. I had fun.” Indrid started stroking Duck’s hair, unbearably gently, and Duck pulled away just enough to look at him, but of course his face was unreadable. “I thought you preferred to be… in charge,” said Indrid softly.

“Sometimes I do,” said Duck, and turned his face away, pressing it again into Indrid’s chest. “But sometimes I don’t. And, uh. I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *frantically googles 'mothman weighted body pillow'*


	6. Chapter 6

It was the evening of the second loop, and Barclay was pacing back and forth across the Winnebago. Indrid sat curled up on the couch. He normally offered his guests eggnog, but Barclay would not benefit from additional restless energy.

“Yesterday was fine!” Barclay was saying. “I mean, I didn’t see him until, like, ten, which was a little weird, but after that everything was normal! Until the fucking FBI showed up! I ended up in a  _ cell!” _

“I’m sorry about that.” Indrid was mostly thinking about how turning down that day’s invitation from Duck, now that he knew how that visit could end, in favor of being at home when Barclay knocked was the most selfless thing he’d done in he didn’t know how long.

“When I figured out what happened this morning I asked Stern why the hell he’d ever call the FBI to Kepler, given that he has  _ no  _ evidence of anything, and he got all defensive! We ended up fucking screaming at each other, which of course was miserable.” Barclay stopped in front of Indrid. “And now I’m here. I need your help. Please. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Indrid did not even bother to say that he didn’t interfere in the loops. Barclay had watched him turn into a moth to keep Duck from being eviscerated. “We need a plan for tomorrow.”

“Clearly not knowing about bigfoot is not enough anymore.”

“So why not tell him the truth? You’re in the best position to get him to do anything. He likes you.”

“We need some way to both reveal that I am bigfoot and convince him that me being bigfoot is not his bosses’ business.”

The plan came to Indrid in a recursive way, wherein he was unable to separate imagining it from foreseeing it carried out, but come it did. “I think I know what we could do.”

\--

Agent Stern swung through the door of his room, humming. Indrid stepped out from behind the door and pressed against it with its palm until it slammed shut. 

Stern turned around, and Indrid smiled. He knew how he looked when he smiled. 

Stern’s control over his reaction was admirable. “Excuse me?” he said.

“You’ve been investigating cryptids,” said Indrid, advancing a step. 

“Yes,” said Stern indignantly. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Have you ever considered that perhaps cryptids do not require government supervision?”

“What’s it to you?”

And then Indrid pulled his glasses off. Stern’s shock gave him a moment to adjust: transformation meant a flood of new sensations. His antennae picked up the faint air current from the vent on the ceiling and so many smells, from the surprise in Stern’s sweat to the darkroom chemicals on his bigfoot pictures. And while moth-eyes were not so good for fine detail, they were  _ wonderful  _ for color, vibrant hues stretching out beyond violet to his compound gaze.

“Oh,” said Stern. “You’re the mothman! And you’re pink!”

Indrid folded his arms indignantly across his chest. During the Point Pleasant incidents nobody had seen him in good enough light to discern his true pastel coloration. “Yes.” The futures were getting worse by the second. Barclay was about to burst in, he wouldn’t even have time to tie Stern up. “Anyway I’m here to hold you hostage and threaten you,” he said loudly, and then leaned in to whisper so only Stern could hear. “I’m not actually going to hurt you.”

Stern’s eyes widened, but he didn’t have time to ask any follow-up questions, because the door slammed open, and Indrid whirled around as though surprised.

Barclay was standing there with a baseball bat. “I’m here to rescue you!” he said, not loudly enough to disturb any other Lodge residents, and then carefully closed the door behind him. 

“Yeagh!” said Indrid, and pulled the bat out of Barclay’s hand. Barclay didn’t fight him, didn’t take the opportunity to attack when Indrid threw the bat aside and watched it thump against the carpet. Indrid had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he got Barclay into a headlock. 

Stern’s mouth was open. Presumably he’d had enough special agent training to recognize bad stage-combat when he saw it. Indrid wanted to tell Barclay to hit him harder. 

Finally Barclay pulled his bracelet off and wrestled Indrid to the ground. Indrid, for his part, did put up somewhat more of a fight than Barclay had, but he hadn’t been lying to Duck about his own lack of offensive capabilities. Soon Barclay had his foot triumphantly on Indrid’s shoulder. 

“You’re not tied up,” said Barclay to Stern, disappointed. “Um. If you were I’d untie you now. And rescue you from the mothman. Which as you could see I had to turn into bigfoot to do. Yes, I am bigfoot.”

“Okay, you’re bigfoot, but what the hell was that?” said Stern.

“Barclay, you came in too early,” Indrid mumbled. “I hadn’t even started threatening him yet.” Barclay had taken his foot off his shoulder and now he was just splayed out on the brown carpet, wings spread.

“Okay, yes, that wasn’t a real fight,” said Barclay. “We needed to convince you not to call the FBI.”

“Oh,” said Stern. “Oh.” His voice was small.

Indrid got to his feet and turned away, contorting himself awkwardly to pick carpet fluff off his wings. They’d come up with a new plan tomorrow. He should have known better than to think this would work.

“What?” said Barclay.

“I already called,” said Stern. “I’m sorry. They’re coming.”

“Why, Stern, why?” said Barclay. “You want me to get arrested?” He was getting worked up now.

“If I’d known  _ you  _ were bigfoot I wouldn’t have!”

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” said Indrid.

“...tomorrow?”

Indrid turned around again, spoke quickly. “Barclay and I are trapped in a time loop. Until we figure out how to stop you from getting him arrested, because being a cryptid is a crime now apparently.”

“That’s not what I wanted!” Stern looked from one sylph to the other and then burst into tears.

“I promise you that’s what will happen,” said Indrid, his voice so much harsher now than when he was pretending to be threatening. 

“Please, Joseph,” said Barclay. “Will you tell us how to stop you tomorrow?”

Stern took a deep breath, trying to calm his sobs. “You’ll have to get to me early. I woke up… frustrated at my lack of progress, and Hayes has been pressuring me to accept help. So I called at about nine.”

“And how do we convince you?” said Barclay.

“I- and I won’t remember telling you any of this tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Just tell me you’re bigfoot and you don’t want me to tell anyone. I - I’d do anything for you, Barclay,  _ please _ .”

Indrid picked his glasses up off the floor and put them on so he’d fit into the chair. He was feeling hopeful about the next loop, but this one could end any number of ways. Enough futures involved Barclay and Stern screaming at each other that Indrid wanted to stay in case he needed to referee. 

Barclay paused. The softness in his eyes was still there, even in his bestial form. “Am I terrifying, like this?”

“No. It’s still you.”

Barclay sat down next to Stern on the bed, which creaked audibly under his weight. 

“A time loop, huh?” said Stern. 

“Yep. He knows more about it than I do,” said Barclay, indicating Indrid, who inclined his head in a way he hoped conveyed his disinclination to be part of this conversation.

“Will you tell me about it after it’s over? I know there’s no point to telling me now, but I’ll be interested.”

“Another unexplained phenomenon for you to investigate?” said Barclay bitterly.

“Do you mind me wanting to know? Or is it just the FBI thing?” Barclay didn’t say anything, and Stern continued. “You can be honest with me. You know I won’t remember what you say.”

“When you first came to Kepler I hoped that you’d like it enough to stay. Quit your job and make a life here. Now I know you better than that.”

“Oh,” said Stern.

“What can I do to butter you up tomorrow morning?”

Stern buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t break my heart, Barclay. If you tell me what I want to hear you’re going to have to deal with me chasing after you the next day, and the next day, and the next.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t want you to hurt me, either.”

“Tell me I’m important to you. That’s all you could possibly do. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Joseph.” Barclay stood up again, rested his hand for a moment on Stern’s shoulder, and then turned away. “I appreciate your help.” Then he addressed Indrid. “Let’s go. Before the FBI shows up.”

Indrid stood up. Stern curled up on the bed, knees to his chest, glassy eyes staring at the wall. The two cryptids left him to his thoughts.

“You love him,” said Indrid conversationally when they were back in the Winnebago, prepared to watch television until midnight. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Barclay shook his head. “This version of him called the FBI on me.”

“Do you need me for anything tomorrow?” Watching Barclay and Stern had been more discomfiting than Indrid had anticipated, and the prospect of spending the following day in bed reading his library books appealed to him deeply.

“No,” said Barclay. “This is something I have to do myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stern: holy shit you're pink!!  
> indrid: >:( this is homophobia


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Barclay woke up in his own bed with his nerves jangling. He put on a sky-blue flannel and the cologne he never used because he never had any special occasions. He assembled a bouquet of daffodils from the patch in the woods behind the lodge, and a tray of chocolate-chip pancakes and coffee the way Stern liked it. 

The tray was quite heavy, what with the vase of flowers and all, but he balanced it easily on one hand to knock on Stern’s door. 

“Who is it?” came Stern’s voice, sounding so miserable that Barclay winced.

“It’s Barclay. I brought you breakfast.”

After a moment the door opened. Stern looked a mess, his hair sticking every which way, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a t shirt. “Oh, Barclay,” he said. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Good morning. Can I come in?” said Barclay.

Stern stepped aside. “How’d you know I needed cheering up?”

Barclay put the tray down on Stern’s desk among the scattered files and polaroids. “You’re normally down for breakfast by now, I worried you might be sick.”

“I - yeah. Sit anywhere,” said Stern, hurriedly pulling the blankets on the bed into a neater position. “Sorry, that feels weird to say. Telling you to sit down in your own home.”

Barclay sat down on the edge of the bed, the same place he’d sat yesterday, folded one of his legs over the other, while Stern sat at the desk. “I hope you’ve found a home here too.”

“These flowers are gorgeous,” said Stern as he drizzled hot syrup over the stack of pancakes. “You shouldn’t have.” When he took his first bite he moaned. “Lord, these are good. What’s your secret?”

Barclay smiled. “I’ll never tell.”

“Guess I’ll just have to stay here so I can eat your cooking forever.”

Barclay took a deep breath. “I care about you a lot, Joseph, and I want you to know something about me.” He wasn’t looking at him, already fiddling with his bracelet, sliding it around and around his wrist.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m bigfoot.” And he squeezed the flimsy plastic clasp that held him together. The bed creaked underneath him and his neck cracked as he grew. Auburn fur appeared on his hands.

Stern breathed in sharply. “Shit. Shit.  _ Fuck.  _ You really are.” 

“Please don’t tell your boss.”

Stern nodded, and Barclay relaxed. But Stern’s expression was still shrewd, there were still gears ticking away in his head. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Of course he was too clever. That was one of the things Barclay loved about him, the determination to never accept the obvious answer if something more complicated lay underneath. 

Barclay put his bracelet back on. He felt more human when he looked the part. “I want you to know me. All of me. And I want to know you too.”

Stern looked terrifyingly vulnerable, then, as vulnerable as he’d been the previous day, like an eel with a hook in its mouth, on the verge of either spitting it out or swallowing it so deep that the only way it was coming out was with a knife.

For the first time Barclay wished he’d asked more of yesterday’s Stern. Because now he was pretty sure that if this part went wrong, he wouldn’t get another chance. “Would you… like to go out with me sometime?”

Stern let out a choked sob, pressed his hand to his mouth. In an instant Barclay had crossed the room and was hugging him. “I’m - I’m so sorry,” Stern choked. “It’s just - I’m such a fucking failure! I’ve been looking for bigfoot my whole adult life and couldn’t see what was right in front of me and you must think I’m so  _ stupid  _ but you still want me?”

Barclay waited to speak until Stern’s breathing steadied. He felt acutely that Stern had not said  _ yes,  _ but was still clinging to him, and that gave him some hope. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t figure it out from a me-not-getting-locked-in-a-government-facility standpoint.”

Stern laughed feebly. “That’s good, I guess.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. My respect for you is unrelated to your many professional accomplishments.”

“Thank you.” Stern collected himself, wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Reached out to straighten Barclay’s shirt where he’d crumpled it. The slight possessiveness of the gesture was enough to make Barclay’s pulse quicken. “And yes, I’d very much like to go out with you.”

Happiness bubbled up in Barclay’s chest, and Stern laced his fingers through his own. 

“And about the bigfoot thing.” With his free hand Stern mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Still his eyes sparkled with curiosity and knowing, and Barclay knew he’d have more questions, but he didn’t mind.

\--

Indrid knew that Barclay had managed it when the television moved on at midnight to something new. It was a windy night, and the noise of Billy knocking could have been a tree branch falling on top of the Winnebago and then scraping and sliding to the ground. 

Indrid didn’t know if Billy could see in the dark. He flipped the lightswitch on anyway before he opened the door. Tonight Billy did not make small-talk, just slapped a pile of bills down on the table. Normally he waited at least a day until after a loop to check in, but it was not quite three in the morning now, and his hands were shaking.

“My superiors are planning to intervene more directly. They are not pleased that Earth and Silvain are still at peace.”

Indrid went to the fridge and refilled his glass of eggnog. 

“I can try to get you to another planet before that happens, if you like.”

“What? You’re not going to stop them?”

“There is nothing you can do.”

“Maybe not, but what about  _ you?” _

“I cannot compromise my position.”

“Bull _ shit  _ you can.”

“You would ask me to abandon my civilization? To live as a refugee in a place like  _ this? _ ”

“What do you think  _ I  _ did? I used to have a fancy job, too! In Silvain I was the court seer! I told The Interpreter what to do. And now I live in a trailer park. I know better than anyone, you can get used to  _ anything.  _ If you want me to believe that you really don’t want Earth and Silvain to be destroyed, don’t just set up loops and expect us to solve the problems your people caused. Do something yourself. Stop the abominations from coming. Sever your planet’s link to Earth, if you have to.  _ Something. _ ”

Billy pressed his palms flat against the countertop. Indrid realized he didn’t know how much time Billy spent on Earth, how much time wearing Ryan Gosling’s face. He didn’t know if Billy knew how wonderful humans could be. 

“I do not know when we will come,” Billy signed. “Within the week, probably.” And then he left, leaving the door to the Winnebago swinging open behind him. 

Indrid was still for a moment, feeling the heat escape, and then got up and slammed the door shut. 


	8. Chapter 8

It was a clear night. Indrid had contributed a small mountain of blankets, Duck a cooler of snacks and a working knowledge of the constellations, and they lay together in the field behind the ranger station, stargazing. Kepler’s lights were not bright enough to obscure the stars.

Indrid was chewing on some fruit snacks - he’d broadened his palette recently - while Duck retold the stories the Greeks assigned to the stars. 

He had just got through the story of Bellaraphon when Indrid’s cold hand found his between the blankets. “In three minutes,” Indrid murmured, “some malevolent aliens are going to arrive. We should stay long enough to see them, but only just. I will probably be injured, but everything will turn out alright.”

“What?”

“Our presence is necessary to push my boss into betraying his home planet to save the earth. We won’t have much time. Do you mind if I pick you up and fly with you to get us away?”

“Um,” said Duck. Indrid’s predictions were usually more along the lines of warning him that he should leave early for work because there would be a traffic accident on the interstate. “Sure?”

Indrid squeezed his hand, and then released it. “Thank you.” 

There was a noise like a sonic boom between the trees, and orange light, the quality of the world’s brightest incandescent bulb, and three hooded figures stepping delicately over broken branches towards the ranger station. Duck got to his feet and offered a hand to Indrid to pull him up as well. 

Indrid accepted the hand and stood at Duck’s shoulder, mouth full of fruit snacks. Duck’s flashlight reflected off three sets of goat-eyes.

“Hello?” said Duck. 

One of the hooded figures in the back raised its hands to its chest, behind the backs of its companions. Duck did not understand what he signed, but Indrid stepped in front of him, stuffing his empty fruit snack bag into his jeans pocket, and took his glasses off. 

“Shit,” said Duck. Indrid’s moth-body obscured his view of what was in front of him. “You’re very big.” 

Indrid remembered, then, that this was not the version of Duck had not run his hands over the mothman’s chest and begged to be held down. This version of Duck had only seen him like this once. This body, too, could not see the stars: he could feel their light on his antennae, knew inexorably which way was true north, but could not consciously pick out the shapes of the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. 

“Your ride is here,” Indrid quipped, and even unremembering, Duck clung to him. 

Indrid was clumsy at takeoff even without a two-hundred-pound man in his arms, and he pitched so hard with each wing-beat that Duck thought for a moment that he might be sick, a feeling not helped by Indrid suddenly dropping what felt like at least a foot but apparently wasn’t far enough because there was a flash of yellow light from behind them and Duck felt a ragged gasp torn from Indrid’s chest.

“You good?” said Duck, and Indrid did not reply, but they were still in the air, so that was something, and in a moment they were on the ground again next to Duck’s truck. Indrid deposited Duck on the driver’s side and landed himself on human feet.

“Where to?” said Duck, fumbling with his keys. 

There was another loud  _ boom  _ from the woods. “Anywhere not here,” Indrid said as he climbed into the truck. “They’ll fight it out amongst themselves.” Duck could not see his eyes beneath his glasses and wondered for a moment if this was just what life was like for moth-people. 

The truck headlights carved bright channels down the gravel drive to the main road. 

Indrid raised his hand to his bare shoulder and massaged it. “My wing. They hurt my wing.”

Duck glanced away from the road long enough to verify that Indrid was not bleeding out in the cab of his truck. His human form seemed uninjured. “Alright. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Indrid nodded, and leaned up against the door of the truck. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated.

They made it to Duck’s apartment, and suddenly the mothman was in his living room again, and there was a  _ hole _ near the top of his right wing,  _ charred  _ around the edges, dribbling translucent blood. “They  _ shot  _ you,” said Duck, but it wasn’t like any bullet hole he’d ever seen before.

“I told you they might,” said Indrid, sitting on the edge of the couch with his injured wing outstretched.

“I’m gonna get some alcohol wipes and bandages, okay?” said Duck, and Indrid nodded and lay gingerly down with his huge moth-head up on an armrest. 

After raiding the medicine cabinet, Duck pulled up a footstool so he could sit with Indrid’s wing across his lap. He allowed himself a moment to stroke the uninjured portion of it, felt Indrid shudder underneath him. “This is gonna sting,” he warned.

Indrid hissed and his wing jerked violently half a second before the alcohol wipe touched it, but Duck held it down across his knees and wiped away the greenish blood, wiped away the charred fuzz. Then he pressed a bandage on top of the hole, and another on the other side. 

“All done,” said Duck. “What else can I do for you?”

Indrid’s glowing eyes were half-obscured behind his fingers. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.”

Indrid held out his arms, and Duck took the invitation to collapse on top of him. “Thank you,” murmured Indrid as Duck pressed his cheek into the soft fuzz on his chest. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he’d get it out of Indrid tomorrow. And go back to the park for their blankets.

“My boss who looks like Ryan Gosling when he doesn’t look like a goat is about to be at the door,” said Indrid, and then there was a knock. 

“Is he an enemy of the Earth?” Duck got up and looked out the window. “Should I let him in?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

There were dark circles under Ryan Gosling’s eyes. He made no sound as Duck opened the door and waved him inside.

“This is Billy,” said Indrid. “Billy, meet Duck.”

Billy nodded to Duck and then signed something.

Indrid laughed. “He says he put his money where his mouth is. Congratulations, the earth is saved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> baby's first real multichap almost complete?? please let me know what you want to see in the epilogue because im a little lost lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally came up with an epilogue. damn having this fic incomplete was bothering me

The carpet changed from gray to blocks of bright red, yellow, and blue at the border of the children’s area in the Kepler Public Library. Indrid was sitting alone at a table just on the gray side of the border, ostensibly looking at a book about the internal workings of training. But really he was listening to the storytime happening on the colorful rug.

“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?” Duck was saying. He paused, turning around the book and showing everyone the picture. Then his voice dropped an octave, doing the voice for the bear. “I see a red bird looking at me!”

He was wearing his ranger uniform, the better to promote the wonders of the outdoors to the younger generation. Indrid was not so good with human children, but the ones sitting on the rug at Duck’s feet were almost alarmingly small. 

“Have  _ you  _ ever seen a blue horse?” said Duck, and received a chorus of plaintive ‘no’’s. “A blue horse is very silly, isn’t it?”

Indrid snuck a glance up from the trains. Some members of the audience were wandering around on the carpet, apprehended by parents when they ventured too far. And they were talking, too, which Indrid considered very rude. Who wouldn’t want to listen to Duck?

The story was over far too soon, and then it was craft time, and the cacophony of child-yells was too much for Indrid to handle. So he picked up his book and wandered off. He found a man who looked strikingly like Ryan Gosling sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the shelf of encyclopedias, with the A volume of the World Book open in his lap.

“Are you doing research about Earth?” said Indrid, at an appropriate library volume.

Billy nodded. For his first few weeks in Kepler, Billy had turned many, many heads. But it was a small town, and after your first time seeing a guy who looks suspiciously like Ryan Gosling - but is definitely not Ryan Gosling, because there’s no way in hell Ryan Gosling would be hanging out in rural West Virginia - he is no longer remarkable. He is your neighbor. 

“You’ll have better luck with novels. Learn how people really interact with each other.” Indrid paused, thoughtful. “Though I’ve been told I’m a little dramatic; perhaps too many trashy thrillers.” 

“Forgive me if I doubt your expertise on assimilation,” Billy signed, but he was smiling.

Agent Stern was reading the bulletin board with his hands clasped behind his back. There were postings for jobs there, jobs that would allow him to stay in Kepler without worrying about telling anyone the progress he had made in finding bigfoot.

Indrid sidled up to him. “It’s not posted here,” he said, “but the park’s visitor center is hiring. Someone to talk about the history of this area. You might want to look into it.” If he wasn’t wearing sunglasses he would have winked.

Stern did a double take - he’d only seen Indrid once before, and only briefly before he became pink and winged. “Thank you.”

Barclay was standing at the copy machine, making photocopies out of a cookbook. “Hello,” he said when Indrid came over.

“You realize they let you take the books out, right? You don’t have to make copies of everything?”

“I already know for a fact that I’m going to need a copy to write corrections on. Look,” said Barclay, holding up the warm sheet that had just printed, “at how much pepper this calls for. It’s ridiculous! Does this author think everyone buys terrible grocery-store pepper?”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Indrid started smiling an instant before Duck appeared beside him.

“How’d you like storytime?” said Duck, slinging his arm around Indrid’s shoulders.

“Very presumptuous of you to assume I was listening to an entertainment aimed at small children,” said Indrid loftily. “But I enjoyed it very much, thank you for asking. I don’t think a purple cat is necessarily silly, though.”

“I know. I’m sorry for contributing to the demonization of deviation from the norm,” deadpanned Duck. 

Barclay snorted. “Now I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I didn’t realize storytime would involve so much editorializing,” said Indrid.

“When the book’s only ten pages long you’ve gotta fill time somehow. And there’s the… interactivity component, I guess. Engaging your audience.”

Indrid nodded idly. He surprised himself, sometimes, by how calm he was these days, with no more loops and no more second chances. He’d learned, finally, that things tended to work themselves out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't figure out how to work it in but indrid in this is a trans moth. he's a dude and he has a dick in human form because he chose to, but his moth form is a female moth. sorry im trans i dont make the rules

**Author's Note:**

> come hit me up on tumblr @bellafarallones i always love to talk about indrid cold


End file.
